


Prom Queen

by dovahdove



Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Turned Into Vampire, Cliche, Crack Treated Seriously, Drunk Sex, F/M, Funny, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Multi, Multiple Partners, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Polyamory, Polygamy, Pop Culture, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Self-Indulgent, Shameless Smut, Social Media, Threesome - F/M/M, True Mates, Underage Drinking, Vampire Sex, fast burn, reupload
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25983172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovahdove/pseuds/dovahdove
Summary: "It's Fenty."She places her cold fingers at the dip of her hip, contorting her shoulder just enough for the radiant sunlight to crackle upon it."Body lava; great for Coachella."The year is 2020, and being a new-born vampire has never been harder. Luckily for Jackie Maine, pop culture has granted her a way to justify her strange being and circumstance in accordance to the Volturi rules. Except for murder—That she cannot excuse with Rihanna, or her make-up line.(Or: Garrett accidentally discovers his true mate in a one-night-stand gone bloody, and Jasper reprimands him for turning their destined lover into a vampire without her consent.)
Relationships: Edward Cullen/Bella Swan, Garrett (Twilight)/Original Female Character, Jacob Black/Renesmee Cullen, Jasper Hale/Garrett (Twilight)/Original Female Character(s), Jasper Hale/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 91





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> so, uhm—
> 
> oops? Reupload!
> 
> It ain't that deep this time: I'm just self-indulging, and, hopefully, you enjoy this monsterpiece!

₀. ₚᵣₒₗₒgᵤₑ

****

**maine.me** : mother nature clearing out the hangover like 💨😩 #jelloshotsfromhell #iwokeuplikethis #iwouldliketothankmy #dog #makeup #chrisevans #chrisevansdogs

 **1,186 likes** | **51** **comments.**  
28 December 2019

_view all comments_

**username1** : gorggg gurll! 💦💋  
 _4w 2 likes Reply_  
━ view replies (2)

**username2** : stop tagging chris and his dogs for clout  
 _4w 14 likes Reply_  
 **maine.me** : _@username2_ neverrrr #chrisevansnoticeme

 **username3** : you're never gonna be Jackie O with that weekend pattern  
 _3w 4 likes Reply_  
 **maine.me** : _@username3_ you just don't want to see me succeed ☹️

**brandondixley** : answer your phone you sasquatch   
_1w 8 likes Reply_

 **sarah.becks** : c'mon hoee you have us worrieddd 😰😟  
 _1w 12 likes Reply_  
━ view replies (7)

**debbie_maine** : hope you're in a better place now, angel 💔🙏  
 _3d 64 likes Reply_  
━ view replies (21)

_MEMORIALIZE ACCOUNT?_

**YES** , **CONFIRM** **.** NO.

_**OH**_ **, OF COURSE** —the last photograph she had uploaded, **(** will _ever_ upload **)** , gains her the most likes on Instagram. Typical.

A shame, really, considering the post she had put up on her nineteenth birthday cost her a pretty penny in clothes, make-up, and a date with that kid from Maths with the expensive camera.

 **(** 679 likes. Yikes. _What a let down_. **)**

But Jackie Maine supposes she could have uploaded a worse photo as her last.

There is always that one, quick snap Sarah Becks had taken of her on that very same night: face grimacing from the strong stench of a cigar pinched between lithe fingers, tongue darting out from the double bourbon on the rocks she had no business drinking on top of all that Chardonnay she had consumed at the pre-drink gig at Aaron Hockney's. Not to mention the **(** barf. **)** _jello shots_.

But her hair had looked _atrocious_ ; cow-licked and frazzled and not appealing at all—

Jackie is eternally grateful for her hair-do malfunction, now, for she doubts the Portland Police Bureau would have appreciated the public display of underage intoxication in their missing person's report near the _last seen activity_ section.

Then again, they had probably already crossed her off as a delinquent that, most likely, bit off more than she could chew, based on the other incriminating photos and videos they must have seen after her disappearance— _and they would have been correct._

Jackie didn't die a noble death; she didn't sacrifice her life in order to gain backstage passes to a Lady Gaga concert for her and her friends. Nor did she get into a freak accident brought upon by an intoxicated driver— who would probably have been Tyler from Chem.; he hadn't got over the sting of rejection from three years ago, and his driving left the parking lot in tatters every time.

No, Jackie Maine had warranted her own demise in the most authentic way she could manage—

By jumping into bed with a _vampire_ amidst vodka shots and Britney Spears and hungry hands.

 **(** Jackie vows to visit her own grave someday, only to vandalize it with spray paint in red, reading: _kinky ass freak._

But then someone would figure out she isn't actually _dead_ dead, and she can't afford the risk. 

_Damnit_. **)**

In retrospect, she shouldn't have detoured to the shadier parts of the city by her lonesome right before the party she never reached, nearly two weeks ago. But happy hour is happy _evening_ there, and the bar had a penchant for early 2000s music Jackie just couldn't help but scream to.

However, no matter how cheap the liquor or how banging the generic Spotify playlist blasting through second-hand speakers, it hadn't been worth her _life_.

Even so, the man— _vampire_ —who took it, _was_.

Jackie doesn't know what had compelled her to sit on the table in front of his towering form, skirt-clad thigh brushing against concealed bicep. Probably the wide expanse of _back_ and _shoulders_ she eyed from the other side of the hazy bar, or the apparent length of fingers that encircled the generic short glass filled with amber liquid he just can't seem to bring up to his lips.

Jackie _doesn't_ know what exactly attracted her to the stranger so, but as he whipped his head to glance straight at her with bright, ruby eyes—

 _Well_.

She was always a horny drunk. Nothing new.

But he— _Garrett Denali_ , he had said between cool, languish kisses—did something to her heart that made it thunder over the clapping music, and she knew she _had_ to have him.

 **(** And it was _perfect_ ; _he_ was perfect. **)**

Jackie had never felt so _alive_ before then; suddenly, the alcohol and the drugs and the boys and girls she used in a strenuous effort to fill in the void in her soul seemed utterly pointless.

All she ever seemed to need now was Garrett and his touch and his laugh and his growl—

That is, until he decided to sink his teeth into her neck mid-thrust.

 **(** That wasn't cool. Not one bit. **)**

Now, even her prudent cousin _Debbie_ is hoarding sympathy from _her_ followers; as if she actually gives a fuck, as if she doesn't condemn Jackie for the way she decided to live, and end, her life.

 _And she can't even reply back with a snide comment_.

As Jackie Maine sits there, in a closed-off beauty parlor mid-way through Oregon, she can't help but feel conflicted:

On one hand, her little fantasy from when she was an eleven-year-old girl obsessed with _the Vampire Diaries_ and _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ had finally come true nearly a decade later, and the unprecedented powers that came with her new being is a nice bonus to the curse of immortality.

Speed. Strength. Beauty. Durability. _Compulsion_.

 **(** Jackie had always been able to get whatever she wants. From homework to free rides to unlimited booze to lavish gifts at the flick of her tongue. Even Garrett, eyes blazing with hellfire and desire, had called her _very_ persuasive, and she wonders if mind-control is a generic vampire trait. **)**

But, on the other hand—

Bye-bye, followers. Goodbye, family. See ya, class of 2020.

She's only a week in, and Jackie already longs for her old life: the alcohol, the McDonald's takeaway; her friends and her mother and her German Shepard Bucky. Not wanting to plant her teeth into someone's jugular—she already feasted on more motel workers than she'd like to admit in her starved, guilt-deprived haze. 

**(** Sleep and breathe and _sunbathe_ — **)**

Jackie grips the armrests tighter in her reverie, and the metal bends to accommodate the shape of her fingers. The snips of scissors behind her back do little to calm her nerves; rather, the fact that she has _bleach_ resting in her roots fuels her rage and despair further.

 _Garrett Denali, I'm going to make you pay for this_ _**.**_

* * *

**THE DISASTER THREESOME™**  
 **(** that _nobody_ asked for. **)**

_**!**_ [PROM QUEEN—TRAILER.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sOnwOg40nKM&t=6s) _**!**_

**❝** THIS IS _QUITE_ **UNCONVENTIONAL.❞**

❝COME NOW, _MAJOR_ —THE MORE THE **MERRIER**.❞


	2. I. FATAL ATTRACTION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ( Alice Cullen is going to get an earful from him, that's for sure. )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My original author's note, because it still applies x:
> 
> "Wanted to establish some much needed background with this part, so sorry if it's quite dull! Next part will contain the Good Bits. ;)
> 
> I spent the better half of my 3AM writing spree (it's 6:21 as I'm writing this now) trying to comprehend how Twilight vampires work? If they bite a person, even if it's just for a quick snack™, the venom in their mouth kick-starts the transition into a vampire, right?? But then how do Bella and Edward exchange spit??? Do they just kiss rubbing philtrums in the driest, shut-lipped way? Does she hold Eddie's saliva under her tongue like sublingual vitamins and waits for him to whip out a dentist suctioning ejector to get it out of her mouth?? It's probably not enough venom in the bloodstream to start a transition but this is what my drunken mind chooses to focus on."

**₁. F ₐ ₜ ₐ ₗ ₐ ₜ ₜ ᵣ ₐ C ₜ ᵢ ₒ ₙ .**

**PORTLAND** , _OREGON_

20:08

**IT TAKES A YEAR** and six full days for him to revert back to old habits.

Garrett didn't think his wounded pride and hubris could ever erase _thirteen_ years in the blink of an eye, but the evidence is jarring and grotesque and bloody beneath his heavy boots. He runs a thumb across unshaven cheek to crimson, wet lips, savoring the taste of the motherfucker bleeding out behind two trash cans in front of him. Piss-drenched concrete pressed against his temple, jeans half-way down as the vampire found him, collar scratched by frantic, acrylic nails in their haste to force her assailant to _let go_ —Garrett couldn't have hoped for a more deserving meal.

Yet—

The vampire splays a silvery hand above his churning stomach; fingers pressing into the marble hiding beneath cotton, teeth grating against one another to hold it together, and he _hates_ it.

Hates that _Kate moves on_ , and he can't even rip a rapist's throat open anymore.

 **(** Well, he _can_ . It's the alcohol circulating through a human's bloodstream after a decade-long consumption of fresh rabbit that has him convulsing for the past three months. **)**

Garrett leans his heaving form against the brick wall, cautious of the bloodstains coloring the fired clay crimson. His nostrils flare in vestigial habit; longing for the familiar scent of fresh snow, of pine trees and lightning and _her_ , still.

But the only smell that invades his unused airways is the stench of urine, metal, leachate, and Portland.

Garrett has to sigh.

On the behest of Carlisle, the reformed nomad traveled from the Cullen's new retreat of Baker City, Oregon, between mountain tops and tree lines, to the more populated west where his trail won't be traced back to his vegetarian allies. They are already risking much, Garrett is told, by staying so near and so close to the small town of Forks after only a handful of years since they've moved. But the werewolf needs his pack and he needs his mate in turn, and the newest acquisition, Bella, has found a loop in their dictating, strict laws, visiting her aging father as much as she can allow herself to.

And, as a final act of treading on thin ice, the Cullens take in Garrett when he's _this_ close to exploding at his **(** former **)** clansmen and _this_ close to severing bonds and limbs.

So, having nowhere else to turn, he stays with them.

 **(** _For a while, anyway_. **)**

His appearance and his baggage and his problems tear out stitches yet to heal for some of them, and Garrett can full-heartedly sympathize. He recalls sitting with his fellow soldier on a lofty couch, remembers eyeing the muscles working at his jaw as he looks down when Alice Cullen walks by, undeterred and stiff at the feel of Jasper's mood pulsating, _riveting_ , at Garrett's words of _mate_ and _not meant-to-be_ ringing through the hollow house.

Garrett isn't the only man who's lost a destined one, it would seem.

 **(** "At least pixie over here didn't dump you for some mountain-hiking human schmuck."

"That's true—she left me for some vision that might never come to be."

Garrett winces; brows scurried in proverbial pain.

"Touché, my dixie friend." **)**

After seven months of being under the Cullen family's wing and trying to heal and move on and failing to do so; before he departs from his vegetarian life and goes back to his old, comforting ways, feeding off from the scum of Portland is the least he can do for his old friend.

Garrett turns to the corpse bleeding out beside him and clicks his tongue in dismay as the high of tarnished blood recedes, leaving behind two bright rubies in the dark.

In this day and age, their kin had to be _meticulous_ beyond all measure. CCTV and social media and advanced forensics prove to be the bane of their immortal, feasting existence, and the nomad starts to doubt his decision to turn his back on Bambi and all the other woodland creatures.

But, in truth, Garrett doesn't see the appeal of existing without _living_ , of the rush that breathes life into his unused lungs and the adrenaline to a meritorious kill.

And for that, he begins to fish around for a pair of keys he knows to lead to a nearby storage unit that holds a copious amount of lye and acid just for this sort of occasion.

It is macabre, more so than the blood rushing down his throat, but Garrett has a tendency to pick up useful tricks to make his circumstance easier, and the Volturi is chock-full of them.

It's not like he's afraid to leave a hair or a fingerprint behind, anyway—his DNA is unrecorded in contemporary times, heavily modified by the venom, and is hard to preserve without knowing what sustains his cells in the first place. The friction ridges of his fingers have, too, dulled with the turn; a direct result of the evolution overtaking one's body as they become a true, lurking predator that strikes in silence.

It's the bite marks and the unnatural loss of blood he has to mask.

 **(** When Garrett reaches the makeshift hideout in half an hour's time with the dead body slung over his shoulder, he kisses the container to the solution of his woes.

 _If only he didn't have to disintegrate his coat, too_ . **)**

It takes two full hours for the carcass to dissolve into mere mush, his prized article of clothing with it. He stands outside the storage room, arms crossed as he is careful to avoid the horrific stench sticking to the remainder of his clothes, and his hair and skin.

Airing his shirt out as he exits the area altogether in false leisure, Garrett turns towards the main street after making sure, for the _third_ time, that he's spotless. 

He has a motel room rent out. Not because he needs the rest, nor the springs digging into his hardback, but the roof and the **(** _general_ **)** silence of it as he tries to figure out what to do and where to go next.

However, before he can make the quick sprint two blocks down from the sidewalk he traverses, he reflexively, _accidentally_ inhales—

And his footing nearly stumbles.

Garrett roots himself to avoid actually meeting the pavement, ringed fingers encircling his knees as he leans forwards, flaring his nostrils out to catch the scent again.

And he does.

And it's the single, most euphoric smell he's ever encountered.

His eyes snap up to take stock of his surroundings, trying to pin-point the source of the mouth-watering aroma, and curses. He's in the seedier part of Portland's downtown district, littered with obnoxious bars and clubs and everything in between, and there are so many humans prancing about, drenched in sweat and smoke and alcohol and sickly strong perfume—

Garret growls; a deep, animalistic sound that surprises even _him_ for its precarious origin. His chest heaves as if it's suffocating, as if it's pounding with a beating heart and constricted lungs and he nearly shudders and—

It was _Alice_ who suggested he'd come to this shit pile of a city in the first place, wearing the same, conceded smile that Jasper has grown to resent, Garrett knows. 

**(** "I think Portland would do you some good this time of year." **)**

Yeah—no _shit_.

The vampire feels as if he's about to go into cardiac arrest, _two hundred and forty years after his heart had stopped beating._

Garrett takes in an unneeded, shuddering breath as he tries to locate the human that has fostered such an unorthodox reaction in him, one that he had witnessed unfold before his very eyes a little over a year ago in _Kate_.

His ruby eyes go large at the admission.

 _It can't be,_ Garrett recoils as he plants his bejeweled hand across a harsh wall. _But there's no other explanation._

 **(** Alice Cullen is going to get an earful from him, that's for sure.

But, for now— **)**

****

**PORTLAND** , _OREGON_

22:39

**SHE WATCHES THE** cigarette bud, lip-stained and burnt-out, fall into the sewer drain with the flick of her painted fingers. Jackie stands on the sidewalk for a moment more, contemplating her next course of action beneath a flickering street light. 

**(** As she sees it, she has two options:

One: get her ass into an Uber and rush out of town before she misses Claire's renowned rum punches, and Brandon finishes the rest of it off after three Flo Rida songs.

Or—spare herself the embarrassment by arriving in said Uber **(** because she's obviously being _stood up_ by Matthew Jeffords, and that's simply _unacceptable_ **)** and sneak into the nearby bar that's been blasting her tunes for the last half an hour she's been waiting around for said asshole. **)**

After some consideration, Jackie turns her back to the road, stepping into the messy file of bar-goers.

The girl throws her shoulders back, head tilted to the side in a carefully practiced _'yes, I'm obviously twenty-one'_ posture as she nears the crammed entrance and the gate-keeper to her haven for the next few hours as she nurses her injured pride with a few rounds of tequila. And some beer.

**(** Maybe even jello shots. **)**

"ID, yeah?" Jackie frowns.

_Spoke too soon_ , she curses in her head as she digs around her sleek coat, knowing full-well that her fake is still in her bathroom's drawer, and not in her pocket as she makes it appear to be. Meanwhile, her doe eyes studiously check out the tired-looking bouncer beneath dark lashes, drinking in the disgusting display of the large man stuffing the nail of his fat thumb up his nose to scratch at the inner lining of his nostril.

**(** _Ew_. Didn't need to see that. **)**

"Here ya go, hun," the brunette hands over her real driver's license nonchalantly, putting all her hopes in the towering hulk being as thick as his biceps look. She turns out to be lucky, for she hears the math pouring out of his mouth in quiet murmurs as he glances up at her from the document, then back at the numbers again.

Jackie bites back a crimson smirk as she idly steps up to the struggling man **(** _Chris_ , his stuffy jacket reads **)** to ' _lend him a hand',_ so to speak.

"I'm born in 200 _1_ . It's 20 _20_ now. That adds up to 21, making me twenty-one." She explains, completely incorrect and wrong and confusing. Finally, for good measure, because this isn't her first rodeo in front of a bar, adds: "I got _so_ lucky with my birthday, considering it's so _easy_ to remember and count back on it, y'know? Most other dates are a struggle; I used to bartend so I feel your pain."

**(** Well, that's a lie—the only official bartending Jackie's done is a quadruple vodka straight into Brandon's mouth from the bottle. That had to count for something. **)**

The bouncer stares at the brunette girl long and hard, trying to gauge if she's bluffing, for he is sure, _so_ sure that that doesn't seem to sound right he could bet his end of shift drink on it. However, his prolonged pause causes the group of eavesdropping men standing behind her to break out into peels of laughter, and there are red blotches of self-consciousness rising beneath his jacket from the shrill sound. 

**(** If there's one thing Chris hates, it's being laughed at, _especially_ for the fact that he had failed algebra ten years back, so— **)**

He steps aside, tone jagged. 

"Fine. Go in."

Jackie beams.

"Thanks, doll." She plucks her license from meaty hands, stepping through the bar's threshold; but not before she turned her head back to wink at the group of males who had stood behind her, overjoyed that her idiotic persuasion actually _worked_.

Chris, later on, releases a heavy sigh as he lets in the group of snickering university students that had managed to dampen his mood. He memorizes their faces in spite, just in case one of them acts out and he'll get the pleasure of throwing them back out into the cutting air. 

_Fucking kids._

With gritted teeth, Chris shifts back to survey the next entry to _the Ragtag_ —

He does a double-take, anger diffusing.

A tall, rugged man grins down at him, red eyes glinting beneath thick brows.

**(** Chris knows when to keep his mouth shut, and gothic-looking fuckers that wear freaky contacts are just better off left unengaged. **)**

"Go in, pal," the bouncer mutters as he jerks his head to the side, motioning to the door as the pale man taps him on the shoulder in thanks.

He feels cold beneath his jacket where his fingers landed.

**PORTLAND** , _OREGON_

23:04

**IF THERE IS ONE THING** Jackie knows, it's that sambuca and Pitbull bring people together. 

As she sways to the song she had precariously screamed to when she was prepubescent and not fully comprehensive to what _grab somebody sexy tell them hey_ means, sticky liquor engulfing her long fingers, Jackie deems this detour a massive success. She grazes shoulders with two other girls she had managed to rope into her tirade to get everybody to dance and sing instead of lurking about in corners. For the most part, her obnoxious rousing comes to fruition as more and more people join in on her circle of girls for a nostalgia trip back to 2012.

**(** Great Instagram Story material. Score for Jackie. Take that, Matt—you _motherfucker_ — **)**

Once the song wraps up and actual cheering erupts throughout the dimly-lit bar, Jackie taps— _Becky? Brenda? Brandy? She's drunk already_ —on the shoulder, notifying her newly-acquired best friend of her intentions to get another round in. The red-head hugs her in alcohol-induced affection as Jackie steps back from the makeshift dance floor. 

Readjusting the straps of her loose crop top, Jackie shuffles closer to the bar. The sudden stillness of her form as she waits her turn causes the alcohol to spread into her blood and her limbs and her brain. By the time she's at the counter speaking to the bartender, she's all hooded eyes and red-stained grins. Getting a bottle of Bud for herself and a half-priced cocktail **(** "thanks, bypassing manager man!" **)** for her bestie that she has difficultly remembering the name of, Jackie heads back to the dance floor—

And spots a pair of ruby eyes staring right at her.

_Woah_.

**(** Jackie could get behind that. **)**

She glances behind her shoulder, subconsciously making sure she is the true recipient of that smoldering, burning stare. Finding only faded wallpaper there, Jackie feels a deep-seated curl settle in her lower belly at the prospect of that drop-dead gorgeous man finding _her_ attractive.

Not to sound vain, but Jackie has enough high school _trophies_ to establish herself as a looker. If not for the football team _cheering_ for her during _cheer_ , it would be that pretty 4,741 number near her Instagram handle.

**(** #ad, bitches. **)**

But the man encircling his long fingers around a tumbler at a secluded table is— _well_ —a man. Not that that has ever stopped Jackie; Tinder already led her to more than a few older hook-ups, in truth. Sarah would kill her if she knew, but the brunette doesn't really care.

At least they don't ditch her for a frat party. _Thanks, Matt_ —

Jackie takes a long swing of her beer, allowing the burn of alcohol to disintegrate her self-doubt because, God, how she lucked out if this works. The guy made her squirm without lifting a single finger, and she just can't seem to keep her own eyes off his more than enticing form lounging on the sofa. Right then and there, he cracks a slow smirk at her, gesturing to the seat beside his with the slightest of head tilts and, _oh boy_.

Jackie downs the tequila sunrise in her other hand.

**(** _Sorry, Becca._ **)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bartend for a living and some girl acc tried to pull that bit of math on my co-worker and it nearly worked. I'm screaming still.


End file.
